


Not Anymore

by LibraryMage



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Sabine Wren, Gen, Stimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:04:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraryMage/pseuds/LibraryMage
Summary: No one has touched Sabine's hands like that in years and she'd almost forgotten how bad it feels.(trigger warning for ABA practices and messed up power dynamics between siblings)





	

Sabine stared down at the holomap in front of her.  With their forces combined, the Wrens and the other clans who had joined them in their fight only had a small number of fighters.  Sabine’s experience with Phoenix Squadron apparently had made her qualified to be put in charge of their movements, which was the puzzle that currently occupied her attention.  No matter where the fighter groups were positioned, they would either be spread too thin or clustered too close together, leaving everyone vulnerable.  They just didn’t have what they needed to defend themselves, let alone launch a proper offense.  What they needed was support from other clans, and not just the ones on Krownest.  But how would they get it?  Finding three clans willing to throw in with them had been hard enough, and now that they were clearly losing, it would be even harder to convince anyone else.

Sabine shook her head and took a step back from the map.  _That_ was not her job.  _This_ was.

She began to pace around the room, working off the anxiety that had been simmering away in her head.  She flapped her hands as she walked, letting the repetitive motion calm her down and help her regain her focus.

After a few minutes, she returned to the map, part of her hoping that some little key detail she’d missed would just jump out at her and she’d know what to do.  But of course that didn’t happen.

Sabine leaned her left hand on the table and continued to flap with her right.  Maybe if she pulled one fighter each out of these three groups…

She heard the door open behind her, but didn’t turn to see who it was.  She kept her focus on the map, intent on figuring this out.

Tristan walked up and stood beside her.

“Any ideas?” he asked, his gaze following hers.

Sabine hummed softly before muttering “Maybe.”

“How long have you been staring at this map for?” he asked her.  There was something off about his voice, but she couldn’t quite tell what.  Concern maybe?

“I'm taking breaks when I need to,” she said.

There was silence for a while as they both stared at the map, two pairs of brown eyes searching for the perfect plan to keep their forces defended.  Sabine occasionally felt Tristan staring at her instead, but he would always stop after a few seconds.

Suddenly, Sabine felt Tristan’s hand on hers, pressing her palm firmly against the table and holding it there.  Her eyes went wide and suddenly she was no longer seeing the map, but just staring blankly into the space in front of her.

In one lightning-fast motion, she wrenched her hand out of Tristan’s grip and slammed her fist into his jaw.  She froze and stared in horror as she realized what she’d just done.

“I'm sorry,” she said, taking a step backward.  Inside her head was a battle between concern for her brother and fear of what might happen next.  “Tristan, I didn’t – I'm so sorry.”

Tristan blinked and touched the side of his face where a bruise was already beginning to form, like he was trying to figure out what had just happened.

“What was that?” he asked.  His voice was calmer than she’d expected, but he was looking at her like she’d grown a second head.

“It’s – you can't –” Sabine stammered.  Her hands began flapping again, anxiously this time.  She took a few steps back getting her hands out of Tristan’s reach.  In her years on the _Ghost_ , she’d almost managed to forget how this felt, how humiliating it was, how her brain would shut down and fill with static until they _let go_.

“Don’t _do_ that,” she said.

“Sabine, we have to,” he said.  That concern in his voice made her furious.  They hadn’t seen each other in years.  They barely knew each other anymore.  Why did he still get to talk to her like that?

“No,” she snapped.  “You don’t.”

She turned back to the map, deciding it was best to not even look at Tristan right now.

“I have work to do,” she muttered.  “Just let me do it.”

She kept her focus on the map as she heard the door open and Tristan left the room.  Her shoulders dropped and she breathed a little sigh of relief once he was gone.

She could have launched into the speech she’d pieced together over the years, about how this was how her brain worked and it was just _fine_ and she didn’t need to change, but she’d known he wouldn’t understand.  And she didn’t owe him the time or effort it would have taken to explain.  She didn’t owe him a look into her head.  She didn’t owe any part of herself to any of them.  Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of a headcanon I mentioned to a friend that Sabine's parents used to "quiet hands" her and of course they would've roped Tristan into it and told him it was important and would "help" her. I feel like Tristan would probably be the first person in Sabine's biofamily to realize it's not okay, but he hasn't reached that point yet.


End file.
